I Belong to You.
PART ONE
A/N: The Moulin Rouge characters do not belong to me, yada yada yada. This is my vision of what could have happened one year after Christian came to the Moulin Rouge. This story will be "published" in two or three parts.
Please read and review! That really helps me to get inspired to write on. Thank you so much!
'The End'.
The words appeared on the typewriter paper as if they had always been there. Christian stroked his beard as his eyes trailed off the paper. He glanced through the room. White and yellow papers hung up against the wall, each and every one of them contained a page full of words. Pages which contained their story. The story about love, a love that would live forever. And it would. He had kept his promise. He had been working for months and months to write down their story and now it was finally finished.
He removed the paper from the typewriter and pinned it on the wall, at the final left open spot. He stroked his dry throat and poured himself a glass of water. He let the fluid sink into his mouth as he stood in front of the window which looked out over the Moulin Rouge. It was quiet now. The autumn sun warmed the windmill which was turning endlessly. The sky contained some clouds but here and there Christian noticed some blue sky. He took a sip. That blue... It reminded him how blue her eyes were. They had always shone with laughter, as long as he had known her. So much love... Suddenly the door opened and Christian awoke from his memories. He placed the glass on the window-sill.
"Christian!" Someone with a hissing voice called his name with light enthusiasm. Christian turned around. "Yes, Toulouse?" The dwarf made wide gestures and took Christians hands in joy. "I may have found a publisher. He's very delighted about the story and" Christian turned away and walked to the other window where she had been standing nearly two years ago. He caressed the window-sill which she had probably touched then. He had wanted to stay as close to her as possible, while writing his story at least. That way he could still feel her and it felt as if she was looking over his shoulder to see what he wrote down. At times he could feel her breath in his neck and he felt sure about what he wrote. Sometimes he still smelled her perfume.
"Christian? What's the matter, aren't you happy?" Toulouse's smiled disappeared and he observed Christian in doubt. He too had noticed the changes that Christian had gone through. The lively boy who had been here in the beginning had made place for an adult man filled with worries. Christian was no longer the bohemian writer and poet he used to be. Christian stared in infinity. "I'm not sure" He turned around. His eyes were watery. "I'm not sure i-if I want to publish it." Toulouse frowned and walked near him. "But why not? It's a marvellous story, it could be your break through! Even better than Spectacular, Spectacular" Christian shook his head and he carefully took the final paper from his wall. He handed it to Toulouse. Toulouse let his eyes fall on the final words. "So you've finally finished it?" Christian nodded. Toulouse held silent as Christian walked to the window to collect his glass again. He pinned the paper back onto the wall. "It's just... I've finished it, like you said. It's over. Definitely. Now I'll... I'll have to say goodbye... I have to say farewell... To the Moulin Rouge and... Satine" Her name came across his lips as a vague whisper. He became sweaty and he had to restrain himself from crying. Toulouse felt shattered. He had to think about the story and the publisher, but at the same time he saw Christian as a friend, perhaps even a son. He placed his hand on Christian's back. "Christian... I know she had wanted it to be published. That way she'll live on, remember?" Christian shook off his hand. "Her final words" He shook his head. "I just... Don't know." He leaned on the window-sill and let his head hang. "Soon I will go back to England. What will happen with our story then? I won't be here to take care of it" Suddenly he began to cough. He reached his hand to his mouth in his coughing fit. Toulouse shook his head. After it had tempered, Christian took a bottle from his table and took a medicine. "That coughing of yours... It's taking long. I hope your cold will cool down a bit." Christian nodded and he took a sip from the water and put the empty glass on the table. "Me too. The doctor told me that it was probably a virus." Toulouse bit his lip. "And you have it for at least a couple of weeks already." Christian nodded. "Yes, but it's tempering. I'll be fit for England." Toulouse smiled. "Let's hope so. Anyway, think about the publisher and let me know. I did my best." Christian laughed as he opened the door to the dwarf. "Of course you did. You always do." Toulouse smiled and tipped his hat, off to disappear into the slums of Montmartre. Christian closed the door and looked at the papers, then shrugged and poured himself a whiskey.
The next morning he awoke with a smile on his face. He had dreamt of her again. He dreamt about her every night. Sometimes he would hold her and they would say nothing, at other times they were practising for Spectacular, Spectacular and he saw bits of his memory, at other times she was crying. Calling out for his help. Those weren't the happy dreams. Then he would wake up crying and he couldn't fall back asleep. But this night had been special. She had caressed him and they had laughed. It wasn't anything from the past, but it had been what his mind had made it out to be.
He got out of bed and walked to the open window. He glanced outside and noticed that the few trees next to the building had begun to loose their leaves. Beautiful orange, brown and reddish colours. They reminded him of Satine. Those were her colours. He smiled and waved at the Moulin Rouge, for he could be happy some times. He hurried to wash himself clean and then he put on his regular writer outfit. He was happy today for he had decided on doing something which brought him joy. He collected every bit of paper from the wall and made sure that they kept in the right order. He coughed and placed them in a map. He wiped his mouth with a hanky and took his hat from the chair. He put on his coat and took his map with notes and then went downstairs. The housekeeper greeted him. "Be sure to tighten your coat!" she warned him with her deep voice. "You are suffering a cold already!" He smiled at her. She shook her head but couldn't refuse a smile. She hadn't seen him this delighted for a long time.
Christian walked all the way to a small area which took care of loved ones who had passed away. He set his hat straight as the fresh winter wind blew past his hair. He became quieter now. He moved slowly and respectfully. He stopped at a mere corner of the graveyard, where a stone was hidden under a large oak. Its leaves had covered the lying stone and Christian smiled. He brushed off the leaves to reveal the stone completely. "Satine" He whispered and he smiled gently. He touched the cold solid piece and closed his eyes for a moment. "Satine. I... I wrote our story. And" He smiled as he remembered the night they had first met. "I know it's not much, but it's the best I can do." He paused and took out his map. As he tried to get the first few papers out of the map, he felt a nasty coughing fit coming up. His whole body shook at the force of his coughing. He stopped after awhile and held his hanky against his mouth. He had to gain his breathe and that caused him to wheeze a little. He wiped his forehead with his clear hand and calmly went on with taking out the paper as he was a little more at ease again. With his other hand he folded the hanky while keeping his eyes on the paper and tugged it into his pocket. He sat down comfortably with all the papers in his hands and he smiled at the grave. "Sorry 'bout that. I, I'll read it to you, okay? You have to like it. Otherwise" He trailed off and then shook it away. "Anyway, shall I begin?" He took a nice amusing pose and started to make gestures around his story, the way he used to tell her about how Spectacular, Spectacular was being written. It was as if she was lying on his bed again and laughing while he made his funny gestures and he read out all the lines.
He spent his whole day at her grave, until he was completely satisfied with their story. He let his tears flow down silently as he finished. "Did you like it?" he whispered. "I knew you'd like it" He let the paper fall on his lap as he leaned forward and started crying, all his pain freed to find its way.
He walked back to his hotel, lost in thought. Of course, every bit of memory from Satine and the past two years had all come back to him this day. He needed awhile to recover from it. Recover from joy, love, pain, sorrow. His nose was wet and he took out his hanky while he kept on walking and staring to depths beyond our view. He wiped his nose and suddenly he bumped into a woman. He dropped the hanky and quickly caught his map with his writings to prevent them from shattering. "That was close," he said and he straightened himself. "Watch where you're going boy," a rather familiar voice addressed him. He looked up from under his hat and looked in the face of Marie. "Marie!" He cried out friendly. "I'm so sorry; I didn't watch where I was going." She smiled. "That's okay, I'm sure you had a lot on your mind. How are you?" They had not spoken to each other for months. Once Satine had been buried, Marie too had to go on with her life in the Moulin Rouge. She had to take care of new girls now. They needed her care, her softness in a world of cruelty. Christian knew that Marie had loved Satine, although Marie had never revealed her feelings that way. "I'm okay," Christian answered and he showed her his map. "I wrote down our story." Marie gasped. "I envy you, Christian. How hard that must have been" Christian nodded. "It was hard but I had made a promise." He smiled. "But I will talk to you again sometime." He brought his hand to his mouth as he coughed. "Take care, Marie!" She nodded and smiled while she watched him walk away. She wanted to turn away and walk on when she discovered his hanky on the floor. She ducked to pick it up and peered in the way Christian went. "Chris-" She didn't finish calling out his name as her view was distracted. She froze as she noticed the stains on the hanky. They were fierce red. Her mouth sank open in horror as she looked the way Christian had gone. He had disappeared.
That night he dreamt he was with Satine. He saw himself dancing and laughing. It was all fun when suddenly it seemed as if his airway was being cut off. He gasped for breath and reached out as far as possible to obtain some oxygen. He wheezed and felt helpless. He couldn't get to the air he needed. Suddenly he woke up and sat up straight in his bed. He still had trouble breathing and he took a deep breath. Sweat was everywhere and slowly he recovered. He was trembling and shaking and he coughed a couple of times. He swept his mouth with the back of his hand. It was still dark outside but he decided to get out of bed. This had been a nightmare and he didn't feel like going back to bed. He moved his hands through his hair and sat down on a chair near the window. He managed to keep himself from coughing. He began to worry. It had seemed as if he had been near death. He was unsure if it had actually happened or that it had only been a dream. He sat on the chair and stared at the Elephant for awhile. His thoughts soon found their way into the Elephant and he could see the inside, feel the satin and he could smell Satine's perfumes. He managed to stay awake for an hour or two when finally his head sank to his hands and his eyes closed.
The following morning he woke up early as he had an appointment. He was shocked to find himself on his chair instead of his bed, but he soon remembered how he had gotten up there. He yawned and stretched himself, he groaned as his back hurt. Sleeping half a night on a chair didn't do one's back much good, as he now discovered. He moaned and got up; he managed to wash himself up a bit. He looked in the mirror and looked at his beard. He observed it for a few moments and then took out his shaving knife. As he started to shave his beard he kept staring into the mirror. It was time to remove the traces from the past. It was time to leave this past year behind. A new and smooth skin for a new and smooth start. He was just finishing the other cheek when he suddenly developed a coughing fit. He hadn't seen it coming and he let his knife slip. It carved a nice figure in his skin as it did. He cursed and let the knife fall in the washing table. Christian examined his 'wound' in the mirror and cursed some more as blood surfaced.
A few moments later he walked back into the bedroom to get his pocket watch from the night table. He searched the drawer for some bandage for the cut. He wanted to go out cleanly this day. It was important. He jumped at the sound of someone banging on his door. He opened it and smiled as Toulouse came in, obviously exited.
"Christian! Oh how great this day is." Christian smiled and ducked to pick up his shawl that had been left on the floor. "Yes it is, I'm very grateful Toulouse." Toulouse spun around and then stopped to lean on his stick. "Yes, I hope the publisher will grant us his blessings." Christian went silent and then tried to speak but Toulouse interrupted him. "Ah!" He pointed at Christian's naked cheek. "Ah, you shaved off your beard! That does please me, it does." Christian laughed and got his coat. "Please you? How come?" Toulouse sat down on the bed as Christian moved to another corner of the room to collect something. "Well... It shows that you're moving on." His face went serious. "And well, that's a good thing to do. A wise thing" He added. Christian held still and then turned around to face the little man. "Well... What else is there to do?" And with that, he closed the subject. Toulouse glanced around the room feeling a bit awkwardly. He loosened his tie a bit when his eyes fell on Christian's pillow. He frowned and looked at it a little closer. "Christian?" He asked with his glance still fixated on the tiny red stains that were visible, "Have you suffered a nose bleed?" Christian who had just taken his hat from the table turned around laughing. "A nose bleed? No, why?" He walked to where Toulouse was at and followed the man's view. He noticed the stains. His eyes flicked to Toulouse and he smiled uneasily. "Oh- Oh that. It probably landed up there when I was bending over this morning." He pointed at his shaving mark. "See?" He walked past the door and while on the hallway he called back to Toulouse. "Now let's go!" His voice trailed off as he disappeared downstairs. Toulouse's frown became deeper as he heard Christian going down. He wished he could believe him, believe his boy. He wished that it had been from Christian's shave, but it hadn't. He couldn't believe Christian, no matter how much he had wanted to for this blood that had stained his sons pillow had not been from that very morning. It was already dried up. It had to be at least a couple of hours old. This concerned Toulouse. He stood up and walked into the hallway, closing the door behind him. He decided not to show his concern. This was an important and joyful day and he would not allow his silly concerns to spoil it. This day was a day which meant great fortune for Christian, and Toulouse wanted his son to get every bit of good fortune that he could.
The door to Christian's room opened and a cheerful writer walked in. He laughed as he threw his coat on a chair and he fell on his bed. It had been a good day. The publisher had been exited and he had approved. Christian held the key to what could be his big break through. To publish a story in Paris... His dream was coming true. Toulouse and he had even shared a fancy diner with the publisher and they had feasted on what was to come. He had even joked and all had been happy. His smile faded as he stared at the cracked ceiling. Suddenly he thought of Satine. He saw her. She seemed sad. She was lying there and she looked at him; then turned away, her eyes closed. Christian looked away and he sank back again, right into his worries. The day after tomorrow, on the first working day of the week, he would hand over his writings to the publisher and the first prototype would be ready by the end of the week. This meant business for him, but it also meant the end of the Moulin Rouge. The end for him and the Moulin Rouge. Once his book was brought out, he would leave for England. He would leave her. His heart became ice once this thought fully entered his mind. He dared not to breathe for a moment. Suddenly his face became a bit paler. Then his blush returned and he smiled. A warming smile, filled with love. He wouldn't leave her. He would take her with him. Not in a physical form, but she would always be with him. She would travel with him in his heart and filling his mind with hers. His writings contained everything and they would last forever, making Satine and him last forever. That comforted him. He smiled once again and reached for the light; he coughed as he turned it off. It had been a long day.